To The Sky
by DragonLover43
Summary: Natasha MacKenzie is always being blamed for stuff, even if she was nowhere near it when the incident occured, though aside from some law issues, she's not been expelled somehow. She's so used to it that when issues arise, she already knows she's going to be in trouble. But what happens when she finds out something about her father, who her mother almost never mentions?


My name is Natasha MacKenzie, and I'm in the fourth grade. Why is this important? Because I'm fighting for my life and trying to keep every idiot in my class who saw a big ass goat-lion-bear thing and said, "Aww! A Great Dane!"

Why am I doing this? Because every time something goes wrong I get blamed for it. Boiler blowing up at the principal's house when I'm out of the country even though I'd never been there? "Well she obviously tampered with it before she left." Boom! 3 days in juvie.

I'm working with a neighbor who goes scrap collecting for his metalworking and the school catches fire? "Time delay device!" 6 weeks community service.

It's gotten to the point where I'll be sitting quietly in the library and two very dear friends of mine, Grover and Heather, will get up and periodically walk to the windows and doors to scout for danger. They're hall monitors and are expected to keep me out of trouble, so they try, but apparently I'm "too chaotic and toe the line between unhinged and just stupid." Not even kidding, the guidance counsellor even said so at our last meeting.

Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah, fighting a weird ass goat-lion-bear thing. I swooped low over the head of the thing, trying to lure it away from the crowd while Heather tried to shepherd the attempted Darwin Award nominees away from the thing with Grover's assistance. It roared and lunged upward at me, missing by a few feet.

Oh! I should probably mention my glider; it's loosely based on the one from Princess Mononoke from that Studio Gibli film of the same name, with super light but strong hollow tubes and a sturdy layer of fibreglass. It's my most recent prototype and my proudest achievement.

(Quit bragging and get back to the story! No one cares about your gadgets...)

(Yes, yes, fine.) "C'mere Mr...um...thing. Over here away from the humans who would, uh, give you such a nasty tummy ache since they're not yummy or good for you," I called, not quite sure what to say to get the thing away from the crowd.

"Nat! Over here!" shouted Heather, throwing down her mobility canes and raising her hands. She gestured urgently. "Hurry!"

Not taking a second to question anything I flipped around and darted for her, spiralling in the air to grab her hands before righting myself. "Damn! We lost your shoes, H," I said when the soft sound reached my ears. "Want to go back for them?"

"No, keep flying," she said sitting up, her legs in front of her revealing hooves where feet should have been. She took out some panpipes while I shook my head to clear it of the weirdness, deciding for the moment to push it aside. "Take me high." She licked her lips to wet them then began to play, luring the creature with the music. "Keep out of that thing's reach but close enough for it to hear. Grover!" He started. "I'm taking her to Camp!" He nodded, helping to herd the last of the crowd away.

I decided to roll with it and ask questions later, following the instructions and taking the thing down less populated streets. It dented the metal it came in contact with, nearly crushing a man in his car. I sighed, mentally adding another tally mark to the ever growing list of things I'd be blamed for. I made my way toward the waterfront, figuring I could get it to chase me into the water where it would be less dangerous.

"Good idea," she said between notes, "Poseidon will help." We continued flying. "East!" she hissed. I obeyed, banking East, putting the sun at my back. Ahead of us was a patch of forest that had large wobbly heatwaves coming off it.

I pulled in a breath and braced for baked Nat to commence. A sudden downdraft launched us into the ground. We crashed harder than I would have liked, tumbling over each other, her panpipes making harsh, sharp sounds with each impact. We landed with her on top of me as I lay facedown on the ground. We both lay there gasping as my glider finally skittered to a halt, spinning a little a couple feet away.

I opened my eyes at the sound of approaching footsteps and found an arrowhead pointing at me. I pushed myself to my knees, her sliding off my back. Someone walked up, holding my glider.

"Nice thing," he said, knocking it with a hard knuckle. "Mind if I have it?"

"Not for sale," I panted.

"Who said I was paying?" he asked, lifting it over his head and preparing to break it over his knee.

"No, DON'T!" I shouted too late. The next thing I saw was him on the ground, clutching his knee, now dislocated, the cap chipped. "Tried to warn you..."

"What's that thing made of?" a kid asked, her eyes large and round with wonder and awe.

I coughed hard, trying to reset my lungs. "Three main tubes for each wing, 20 for the main body, 5 for the tail," I said. "Fibreglass exterior, hard rubber buffers on the bottom for protecting the bottom from scratches." I smiled sheepishly. "I learned the hard way that some flooring causes it to stutter, throwing me off. That's how I found out how much roadrash _sucks_." I showed my firearms, exposing the rows of jagged scars. "These are from a feature in my last prototype that was meant for dirt landings and helping my mother garden."

"Impressive piece of work, Ms MacKenzie," said a familiar voice.

"Thank you, Mr. Brunner," I said without turning. I looked around and saw horse hooves. I expected to see a matching head when I looked up with Mr. Brunner behind the sweet face. My jaw dropped and I lifted my hands to shoulder height. "Okay, I get it! I'm either dreaming or tripping on something. Mr. Brunner, you're a centaur."

He laughed. "Well you're not wrong," he chuckled. "I am indeed a centaur, but you're not hallucinating, Ms MacKenzie."

My eyes flicked around a few moments, my mind still trying to process it. "I'm-B-Wh-..." I shut my mouth briefly. "Then what's going's on?!"

"My name," he said placing a hand on his chest, "is Chiron, and you Natasha, are the daughter of one of the gods of Olympus." I got the impression he was half hoping for a dramatic fan fare of trumpets and may have been mildly disappointed when there wasn't any.

"Okay..." I said, drawing out the word like it was a delicious snack that I wanted to savor. "So...?"

"Oh, right. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood," he said. At my confused and quizzical look, he gestured for me to follow, and I did after some kind campers helped me to my feet. Several then took the broken and damaged camper to Cabin "7" while I followed my teacher to a lovely house atop a hill. I shook my glider as we walked, keeping about 3 feet between myself and the hooves stomping next to me and well clear of the back end. A horse half his size had broken my foot a few years previous and I didn't fancy experiencing that again.

The wings collapsed and locked into place while I slipped the handles over my shoulders. As we continued, I took in my surroundings. "What is this place?" I breathed.

He laughed again and explained the concept. "Basically this is a place for half-bloods sired or birthed by the gods of Olympus to train so they can be worthy champions should their parent ever call on them," he said. "There's more to it than that, but that's the gist of it."

"Where do I fit into this, then?" I asked.

"You are the daughter of Maria MacKenzie and some unknown god of Olympus. Judging by your skill and prowess in the air-" he said before chaos in the forest I'd flown over drew his attention.

Heather ran up to us. "Oh yeah," she said before taking a deep breath. "Monster incoming. Nat and I figured it was safer to bring it here than leave it in Manhattan."


End file.
